


Her Second Chance

by Maevi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horcruxes, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9946058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maevi/pseuds/Maevi
Summary: The light had lost. The world a barren wasteland. Only Hermione and her time-turner remained.Going back in time, she spends a year with Tom Riddle, learning him inside and out. Now she has returned to her rightful time, however nothing is quite the same. Her objective though, is still the same.She must figure out how to defeat You Know Who in a world she does not entirely recognise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my new attempt at getting somewhere with this fic. I originally posted the first chapter on ff.net about 6 years ago, but never got around to doing much more. Now the motivation to get this show on the road is back and I'll do my best to keep the ball rolling!

She was back. It continuously boggled her mind that the Headmaster's mad plan had worked.

Even though Hermione had been back for awhile now, she still marvelled at how strange it was to be back in her own time. The cars, the neon lights, the clothes, the people. It all felt foreign to her now. The fact that things, had been altered because of her little rendez-vous into the past didn't help the feeling of alienation either.

One of the major differences in her mind, was the fact that mostly everyone was still alive. No eerie green skulls lit the night. No screams of terror could be heard on the wind. The muggles hadn't tried to kill the wizarding world out of fear, only to end up killing themselves.  
The attempted massacre was how they discovered that magic wielders, whilst not immune to bombs, are immune to radiation. And spells were quickly developed to stop the bombs. But that's a story for another time.

The biggest difference from her old world, however, was the very clear fact that Lord Voldemort hadn't won. Simply put, the world now wasn't the barren wasteland that she had left behind.

A hand on her arm woke her up from her thoughts, and also effectively stopped her from walking out into traffic. She quietly thanked the man who's arm had prevented an accident, and waited patiently for the green light.

As it were, Hermione was on her way to her parent's house, which was hopefully still the Victorian two-story home that she had grown up in, in her own time.

Walking down the familiar neighborhood, a couple of blocks from her destination, she couldn't help but be grateful that most things still seemed to be like they where before Voldemort had taken over in her other time-line.

When she had first returned, she had immediately put a glamour on, as she was unsure of who was currently in charge of the wizarding world, and proceeded to find out everything she could about this new time she was in. The normalcy here compared to what she had come from was a bit disconcerting, and despite the presumed peace that reigned, she needed to find out exactly what was going on, and plan accordingly. She was nothing if not thorough.

During her time as a blonde witch from France, newly graduated from Beauxbaton's (her cover story), she found out that yes, Voldemort was still at large, yes, Harry Potter was still the Boy-Who-Lived, yes, she was still disliked by the Daily Prophet, which more importantly proved that the Golden Trio still existed in this time like it had in the last, and that really everything had occurred here in approximately the same way as in her original time, excluding, of course, the end of the world as we know it scenario.

However, there where still a few marked differences. For example, the most disturbing one being that of the death of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

In her time-line, Dumbledore had been alive and well, although he was in hiding (they all where), by what should have been the end of her sixth year, which, according to the newspaper, was about the time that this Dumbledore had died. Her Dumbledore had even lived a few months past that, and was twinkling away at anyone and everyone up until the point in which he had sent her back in time.  
Her task had been to, as a seventh year, try and persuade little first year Tom Riddle on to the straight and narrow, or at the very least to not become a raging megalomaniac. Ironically enough she had been sorted into Slytherin, which she really hadn't been expecting at all, but made the task so much easier. Not surprisingly though, Tom Riddle was no gullible child, and it had taken her two months to get him to trust her enough for her to become a sort of mentor, and friend, to him. After she had broken through his defences, she had found that the boy was quite enjoyable to be around. He had a quick mind, and absorbed anything and everything that she said. He had what some people might call an old soul as well, as he was very mature for his age, making him that much more pleasurable to be around. A sort of kindred soul, which occasionally made her pause at the preposterousness of being a kindred soul to Lord Voldemort. However, the fact was that he was much like herself at that age, and being in his company was truly refreshing.

And yet, there were periods where she could sense the darkness he held within, could glimpse the person that he would, maybe, become in the future. Those glimpses had made her all the more determined to prove to him the right ideals, that not everyone was bad, that blood purity was a load of bull, and most importantly, not to fear death. Simply put, she was trying desperately to create the opposite opinions in the young, impressionable Tom, as compared to what Voldemort thought and believed in in the future. Obviously she had failed in some aspects, as Lord Voldemort still existed after all. But seeing as the world didn't resemble a lump of coal, she took it as a slight victory as well.

And now that she was back, she had wanted to tell Dumbledore of the half success. But he was dead, so now she was on her own.

Really, she wouldn't of known about his death at all, and would've taken her planned trip to Hogwarts a couple of days later, if it weren't for the front page of the Daily Prophet and it's enormous headlines, stating that the burial of the deceased Headmaster of Hogwarts was to be held the next day.

The news of his death had thrown a wrench into her carefully thought out plans, and she had been left with two problems. The first being that she now had no reliable source of information about this time-line, and two, she had to somehow get in to that funeral, being, obviously, held on Hogwarts grounds.  
However, being the smartest witch of her age, her glamoured self could be found the next day sitting in a corner towards the back, close to the exits. This time though, she wasn't pretending to be french, as there were plenty of students from Beauxbaton who could have easily called her bluff. She had instead given herself mousy brown hair, and nondescript facial features. However it had almost seemed as if her glamour wouldn't have been necessary, seeing as she, and essentially everyone else in the courtyard, had been practically falling asleep because of the long and drawn out speeches held by ministry officials about Dumbledore's greatness, and of what a loss the wizarding world had experienced. As she was relatively certain that none of these officials had actually known Dumbledore personally, it all sounded like a load of dungbombs.

Her original reason for attending had been sentimental. After all, he was one of the few in this time-line that knew the real her, and seeing as she wasn't anywhere near desperate enough (nor stupid enough) to go to Tom for comfort, she settled with the funeral. The other reason however was more practical. The funeral was the perfect place to see who was still alive and kicking within the Order, and hopefully, if anything, to see Harry again. And Ronald too, of course.

Ronald was rather a sore spot for her, and she had felt a slight reluctance in seeing the youngest Weasley boy again, as he had been a major factor to the Light's loss in her original time-line. Ronald had been a spy for Lord Voldemort during there first, and last, months in their sixth year, before everything had gone round the bend. She had been extremely surprised by his actions as well. Not by the fact that he was a death eater, no, but because he had been able to hide it so well, from both Harry and her.

Harry had taken the treason badly, often ranting and comparing Ronald to Pettigrew. He rather quickly fell into a depression as well, not having her compartmentalisation skills, nor being skilled in occlumency despite the Orders best attempts at teaching him. She and Dumbledore had tried to be supportive, tried to help him out of his depression, but with the massive amount of deaths occurring every day as well, he had snapped, and committed suicide by using sectumsempra, effectively taking away any chance of defeating Voldemort with him.

He had bled out long before anyone had found him.

Staring at the boys from her seat in the back, she had desperately hoped that this Ronald was true to the Order, and that this Harry was stronger than her own.

Walking up to the coffin, which was strangely clear as crystal, she noticed how peaceful the Headmaster looked, even in death. One could even say that he was smiling. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he really was enjoying the next great adventure, as he had so casually called death in those last few months. The thought made her smile, but when she caught sight of his hand, the smile froze, and she knew immediately what had transpired on the night of his death, even though the newspaper's had given away no details at all. Her mind racing, she calmly walked back to her seat, and sat down.

In her time-line, she had been privy to many pieces of private information regarding certain things within the Order, as they had needed her for researching, seeing as most of the other Order members where off on different tasks or the other. Out of necessity, Dumbledore had informed her about the plans that the Headmaster had made for the coming year. She had known about Draco Malfoy's mission to kill Dumbledore. She had known about the Unbreakable vow that Professor Snape had made with Narcissa Malfoy, and also about the one that the Professor had made with Dumbledore. She had also been privy to the fact that at the beginning of the school year, the Headmaster had been dying, because of his stupidity, and a spreading curse in his hand. She was also told how Dumbledore had acquired this curse, through one of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes, and was then burdened by all the information, or lack of it, of all of The Dark Lord's horcruxes. She had been tasked with finding out more about the horcruxes, preferably what objects they where most likely to be, and to, if she had time, try to find a cure to the Headmaster's cursed hand.

She and Professor Snape and succeeded in finding the cure to the hand, effectively saving the Headmaster's life, but, unfortunately, she had not found much on which objects Voldemort had contained parts of his soul in.

Obviously the Hermione of this time hadn't been involved with any research to the old wizards help, and she had silently wondered why, whilst observing the slowly shortening line to Dumbledore's crystal coffin. Maybe it had been one of the consequences of sending her back in time. She had remembered the rules and warnings well because of the use of a time-turner in her third year, the number one warning being; Terrible things happen to wizards that meddle with time. And seeing as the world didn't resemble a nightmare, she could safely state that sending her back in time had definitely messed with the time-line, although in a positive way.

Maybe the reason why she didn't do research was because she wasn't intelligent enough to do it. She had visibly shuddered at the notion, and had willed the thought to disappear and to never return.

Returning to her current surroundings from the thoughts of the past, she realized that she was within sight of her house, and breathed a sigh in relief when it looked the same as before. Off-white walls, but with a bright red front door that broke the theme of the Victorian look that the house had. When she was six her mother had one day complained about the outside of the house being too bland, too boring, and that the house needed some color. It had annoyed Hermione so much, because it was disrupting her from a good book, that the next morning, the door had mysteriously become bright fire-engine red. Obviously, it had been Hermione's magic's doing, but they hadn't known that. However, her mother had liked it, and Hermione had happily continued reading in peace, non the wiser of her magical abilities. Yet.

But now, now she was standing in front of said red door, studying it really, trying to stave of the meeting with her "parents" as long as possible, unsure of how her parents would greet her, and a bit guilty about the task she must perform on them.

She had heard at the gathering after Dumbledore's funeral, that this time's Hermione had been missing for a couple of days, and they had feared that Voldemort had captured her. Her counterpart had disappeared on the same day that she had reappeared. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

Therefore, it was not without nerves, and a little bit of guilt for what has happened, and what she must do, that Hermione opened the door and yelled, "I'm home!"

"In here, luv!" Her mother called from the kitchen. Good, Hermione thought as she made her way through the hall and living room towards her mother's voice, at least they aren't panicking.

Rounding the corner, Hermione was all of a sudden overwhelmed by emotion. Her mother was standing there in the old-fashioned kitchen, preparing dinner, just like she usually had in her own time-line. Only, her parents had died in her fifth year from a Death Eater raid, and until her trip through time, she had never thought that she would see this again.

"Hi mum", she said smiling, though there was a bittersweet look in her eyes. Miranda Granger, just as observant as her daughter, caught the look in Hermione's eye, and quickly went over to sweep her in to a hug, wondering silently what was wrong.

"What a surprise!" Her mother said with a large smile, trying to dissipate the look in Hermione's eyes, "You said that you'd be with the Weasley's for the rest of the summer, like last year" Hermione flinched at that, masking it by sitting down at the marble counter. Apparently she was more fond of the Weasley's here then of those in the other time.

"No, no, I will be, it's just that-, just that-, well, I have something important to discuss with you and Dad," Might as well get it done and over with, she thought, whilst still trying to memorize every moment together with her mother. After all, who knew when she would see them again, now that she had a second chance.

She had to make sure they where safe this time around.

"Oh, well" her mother's smile dimming slightly, than brightening again when an idea hit her, "Why don't you help me make dinner. It's been a long time since we've done that." she said while still smiling at Hermione. Long time indeed, Hermione thought. But, getting up from her stool, she walked past her mother to the sink, washed her hands, went over to the cutting board that was already set up, and started cutting the vegetables, her potions skills coming into use. Humming slightly, Hermione embraced the comfortable atmosphere in the kitchen, with her mother fixing the meat, the potatoes on the stove, everything seemed normal for a second, and she felt very tempted to simply stay here, and forget all about her problems in the wizarding world. Yet, she thought sadly, I have an obligation, a mission, to protect my parent's now that they are alive. And to keep them alive, I need to send them far away, somewhere where I can't follow.

Her thoughts must have been reflecting on her face, as her mother asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing," Hermione answered, quickly coming up with something else, she continued. "I've just realized how much I've missed you over the years." It was true though, too. She had missed her parent's for years, and the thought didn't help her melancholy mood.

"Oh sweetheart." Miranda gathered her daughter once more into her arms, "I've missed you too."

Dinner in the Granger household was a quiet affair, after Richard Granger came home to an unusually enthusiastic greeting from his daughter. Other than the occasional "pass the salt" or "can I have some more vegetables, please" they did not utter a word. It wasn't that the atmosphere was awkward, no, it was simply how they did things at the Grangers. If one had nothing to say, then you didn't say it. Hermione had nothing to say, at least during dinner, and was simply enjoying what might be the last meal she would have with her mother and father in a very long time. Why her parent's were silent, well, usually silence was all they could give, as a younger Hermione had always dominated the conversation, telling about some book or other that she had read.

So, they each finished their meals in silence, and than helped clean up the table, do the dishes etc. A well practiced routine at the Granger's in both times. However, with the meal over, it was now time for Hermione's important issue to be discussed. Hermione said just that, and at Daniel's suggestion the all retired to the living room, where the most comfortable seats resided.

"Mum, Dad" She looked at them both while standing in front of the brown leather couch that they where sitting on. Fingering her wand, she started with the background story to the dilemma.

"In December, 1927, a little boy by the name of Thomas Marvolo Riddle was born. His mother died in childbirth, and his father had no knowledge, nor the desire to know, that he existed. Therefore, baby Tom was sent to an orphanage, where he lived until he was old enough to support himself. At the age of eleven, the boy was then visited by a slightly dodgy old man, claiming to be a Professor Albus Dumbledore. This old man also claimed that both he, and Tom, where wizards, and that Tom was invited to attend one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in Europe. So Tom went to Hogwarts, and grew into a fine young man, one of the most brilliant young minds to ever walk those halls, a gentleman, and all with the face of an angel to boot. And so, Tom Riddle had the world at his fingertips." She paused, trying to catch her breath, memories of said young Tom surfacing in her mind.

"That's all well and good dear, but what does this have to do with us?" Her father asked, taking initiative while Hermione paused in her speech.

"I'm getting to that, have patience" she replied, slightly glaring at the older man. He backed of, hands up in playful surrender, and once again leaned back into the couch, willing to listen to the rest of the story.

"Now, as I said, Tom had the world at his fingertips. He could have become the Minister of Magic, or a prominent researcher, or even a teacher. However, after being denied of the last job named, he disappeared off of the face of the earth, some thought to never return." She paused again, wishing to draw this out as long as possible. But, seeing that her father once more was going to ask a question, she quickly continued. "However, he did return, but not as he was before. No, in his place returned Lord Voldemort, who, to this day, is at war with the wizarding world, or more particularly, the muggle-born witches and wizards." Now that she'd told them the brief background, seeing as her parent's never read the Daily Prophet, she could get to the root of the problem. However, with her mother's ever widening eyes, maybe the knut was dropping faster than she expected.

"And once again" her father asked with slightly worried eyes, "what does this have to do with us?"

"Richard!" her mother exclaimed standing up, "Don't you see? Hermione is a muggle-born, which means you're in danger, doesn't it." Her mother was looking at her with wide eyes, stepping towards Hermione and grabbing her arms, wishing with her eyes that Hermione would contradict her, but also knowing that she wouldn't.

"To be more precise, we're in danger, Mum." Grabbing hold of her Mothers arms in turn, her gaze flickered back and forth between her parents. "However, I have the means to fight that danger, and you don't. That's why, for all of our safety and peace of mind, I need you to go into hiding." There. She'd laid down all her cards. Now it was all up to them to determine the outcome.

"No!" Her father was livid, having stood up and was now pacing behind the couch, running his hand through his sandy hair. "I refuse to let you fight against this- this-, this Lord Voldynort, or whatever his name was. If we're going, you're coming with us, and that's final." He was glaring at her now, as if daring her to go against him. But after surviving several years of Professor Snape's death glare, and working beside the man, Hermione was unfazed and unyielding.

"Dad," she started off warningly, making him sit down. "My best friend is the only hope the wizarding world has of winning over the Dark Lord. I need to be there with him every step of the way, and do anything I can."

"No" her father's stance on this issue was obvious. "We will not allow you to risk your life like that. You're too young to fight for Christ' sake!" Hermione, having heard enough of her father's opinions, looked back to her mother. Seeing that the elder Granger woman agreed with her husband, albeit wistfully, as if knowing what Hermione was about to do, Hermione then continued, her resolve solid. She guided her mother back to the couch.

"Very well then, you leave me with no choice." she said, not caring that tears where starting to pool in her eyes. "I need to keep you safe. I'm sorry." And before her parent's could utter another word, she whispered obliviate, and watched as their memories of her disappeared, their faces growing blank.

Hours later, Hermione pushes her parents-, no-, these strangers, out the bright red door towards the yellow taxi, each with a large suitcase and a ticket to Australia, and towards their new lives as Rick and Mira Wilkins, dentists taking an extended holiday. As her parent's aren't exactly poor, they'd have no problem in the economy department when it came to surviving during their trip.

Exiting the house shortly after the taxi had left, she started casting the wards around the building, protection and preservation being her main goal. Proving that her light reading in the Hogwarts library hadn't all been to waste, Hermione also used a spell that conveniently made everyone forget about the house's existence, excluding herself of course. Afterward's, she quickly apparated to the Dentist office that her parent's worked at, and fixed her parent's vacation time. A simple confundus charm on the secretary made things go much easier and more efficiently. Then, apparating back to the house, she cast one last spell, the fidelius charm, just in case the other spell didn't work, (although her being her made that doubtful) and made herself the secret keeper.

Finally, taking one last bittersweet look at the house, her work here done, she did a slight twirl, and disappeared with a faint pop.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, it's been awhile for me and this fic. It might also be awhile until the next chapter is up as all my old material is gone. But I'll do my best, and any questions comments and concerns are warmly welcomed!  
> (Praise will be rewarded with a metaphorical cookie <3)


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